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[Bachelors'] approach to gastronomy is basically sexual, since few of them under seventy-nine will bother to produce a good meal unless it is for a pretty woman.

M. F. K. Fisher

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M. F. K. Fisher
Age: 83 †
Born: 1908
Born: July 3
Died: 1992
Died: June 22
Author
Diarist
Memoirist
Screenwriter
Writer
Albion
Michigan
M.F.K. Fisher
Mary Frances Kennedy Fisher
Woman
Basically
Cookery
Good
Nine
Bachelors
Sex
Seventy
Approach
Seventies
Produce
Meal
Unless
Meals
Pretty
Sexual
Since
Bother
Gastronomy

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It is hard and perhaps impossible for many people to recognize the difference between innocence and naiveté.
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Salad is roughage and a French idea.
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Having bowed to the inevitability of the dictum that we must eat to live, we should ignore it and live to eat.
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But if I must be alone, I refuse to be alone as if it were something weak and distasteful, like convalescence.
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Too few of us, perhaps, feel that breaking of bread, the sharing of salt, the common dipping into one bowl, mean more than satisfaction of a need. We make such primal things as casual as tunes heard over a radio, forgetting the mystery and strength in both.
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I believe that one of the most dignified ways we are capable of, to assert and then reassert our dignity in the face of poverty and war's fears and pains, is to nourish ourselves with all possible skill, delicacy, and ever-increasing enjoyment.
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For me, a plain baked potato is the most delicious one....It is soothing and enough.
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I like old people when they have aged well.
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. . . word-sniffing . . . is an addiction, like glue -- or snow -- sniffing in a somewhat less destructive way, physically if not economically. . . . As an addict, I am almost guiltily interested in converts to my own illness . . .
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I think that when two people are able to weave that kind of invisible thread of understanding and sympathy between each other, that delicate web, they should not risk tearing it. It is too rare, and it lasts too short a time at best.
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... most bereaved souls crave nourishment more tangible than prayers: they want a steak. What is more, they need a steak. Preferably they need it rare, grilled, heavily salted, for that way it is most easily digested, and most quickly turned into the glandular whip their tired adrenals cry for.
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I wrote from the time I was four. It was my way of screaming and yelling, the primal scream. I wrote like a junkie, I had to have my daily fix.
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The oyster leads a dreadful but exciting life. Indeed, his chance to live at all is slim, and if he should survive the arrows of his own outrageous fortune and in the two weeks of his carefree youth find a clean smooth place to fix on, the years afterwards are full of stress, passion, and danger.
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I honestly believe that everything I know about the writing of non-fiction (or writing) could be engraved on the head of a pin with a garden hoe.
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In spite of all the talk and study about our next years, all the silent ponderings about what lies within them...it seems plain to us that many things are wrong in the present ones that can be, must be, changed. Our texture of belief has great holes in it. Our pattern lacks pieces.
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It is all a question of weeding out what you yourself like best to do, so that you can live most agreeably in a world full of an increasing number of disagreeable surprises.
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War is a beastly business, it is true, but one proof we are human is our ability to learn, even from it, how better to exist
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old age is more bearable if it can be helped by an early acceptance of being loved and of loving.
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. . . gastronomical perfection can be reached in these combinations: one person dining alone, usually upon a couch or a hill side two people, of no matter what sex or age, dining in a good restaurant six people . . . dining in a good home.
M. F. K. Fisher
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Brioches are a light, pale yellow, faintly sweet kind of muffin with a characteristic blob on top, rather like a mushroom just pushing crookedly through the ground. Once eaten in Paris, they never taste as good anywhere else.
M. F. K. Fisher